


Stolen Moments

by Lady_Valtieri



Series: Stolen Moments [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Character Development, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Politics, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2019-10-22 22:03:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17670950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Valtieri/pseuds/Lady_Valtieri
Summary: When Comander Ondolemar of the Thalmor is thrown off of his monotonous routine by the appearance of an impossibly familiar face, both he, and the mysterious Imperial named Erisia Valtieri, are set on a path that will drive both of them to make the hardest decisions of their lives.An exploration of the relationship between Commander Ondolemar and the Dragonborn Erisia Valtieri.





	1. First Glance

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the first instalment of my 'Stolen Moments' series, which will be focusing on the relationship between my Dragonborn and Commander Ondolemar. I'm @littlemisstrancy over on tumblr, and I'm always open to critiques or prompts. I hope you enjoy.

The Keep was cold, as always. Despite being stationed in the blasted city for more than a year, Ondolemar still wasn’t used to the harshness of the cold, the way it bit at his skin. He thought back to his days on the Isles – days filled with sun, and warmth, and light. Yet here, in this cold, abominable frozen wasteland, he found the days were much too dark. And with the darkness came the rain, the snow, the hail. The Reach was rough by nature, this he knew, what with the endless miles of jagged rocks and heathens inhabiting the hills. He swore, of all the places in Skyrim to be placed…

His routine was the same as it was every day. He awoke with the coming of dawn, his body trained after many long years to not waste even an ounce of daylight; or whatever passed for daylight in this wretch of a city. After a simple breakfast of bread and meats, he adorned his robes, ensuring that every stitch was placed just right on his imposing frame. It was this process he took the most pride in. Without those robes, he was but another Altmer, another elf among many. Certainly, he doubted that he would be recognisable to any of his comrades were it not for the stark black material and golden embellishments. Thus, he donned the same robes he had been wearing for the past forty years, and after one last moment of peace, he left his room and headed for the foyer of the Keep.

~~~

Things were as they always were, it seemed. The Jarl was sitting in his throne, elevated above the rest of his fellow citizens as though the circlet and robes weren’t an indicator enough that he considered himself better than everybody else. The Jarl’s advisors were bickering amongst themselves, as usual, and Ondolemar was once more surprised that any work at all was achieved in this city. His own subordinates followed him like the loyal lackeys they were, their golden armour – which, frankly, wasn’t as polished as Ondolemar would have liked – glowing faintly under the light of the flames that illuminated this part of the Keep.

Again, there was little for him to do. He had already read and responded to the letters from the embassy. Elenwen was getting restless – she demanded he find more proof of Talos worship in Markarth, demands that reinforced the fact that the Thalmor would not be leaving Skyrim anytime soon, much to his displeasure. Ondolemar thought that it was foolish, in all honesty. He had not trained for twenty years to be a shadow, hiding in the background and simply watching. Any common recruit could do this. He was a Commander. Why it was him that had to chase empty leads and deal with petty religious matters was a question that plagued him almost daily.

The mutts that often roamed the halls watched him as he stalked past, continuing his rounds of the foyer with mechanical precision. By now Ondolemar knew exactly how many paces would carry him from one side of the room to the other – fifty-four times his boots met the ground before he turned, the ends of his robes bellowing around him. He waited, as usual, for something to happen. Boredom was now a common occurrence in his life, an ailment that seemed nearly incurable. He could not roam the city freely for the glares and comments he would surely encounter, and going to the tavern would be an abysmal decision if he wanted to save any dignity or grace that he had from being tainted. He would not socialise with these cretins, would not stoop to their level. So he continued with his pacing, continued with his boredom, as he had done every day, for the past five years. As he walked, he caught glimpses of faces in his peripheral vision - none that he had not seen before. By now, he knew every face in the keep. 

Fifty paces. Fifty-one. Fifty-two. Fifty-three. Fifty-four.

He turned.

And stopped.

He had seen a face he did not recognise.

~~~

He saw her before she saw him. She stood at the top of the stairs that led up from the entrance of the Keep, head held high and eyes sharp. The steel armour she wore glinted in the torches, and he noticed the shine of the sword hilted at her hip. Her raven hair fell in a plait down her back, a few strands framing her face and her features; a delicate pointed nose, high cheekbones, and a strong jaw. The cloak she wore was burlap; simple and tattered, with dried mud caked on the bottom. A traveller, then. Or a mercenary. Either way, not from Markarth. That would explain why he had never seen her before. 

He watched as she sauntered up to the throne, baring no mind to anything else, passing by the help and guards almost seamlessly. Ondolemar narrowed his eyes; she walked with a hidden strength in her limbs, he could see it. She lead with her head, tilted back slightly and held high, guiding the rest of her body. A natural leader, he could see it. His training had gifted him the power of being a rather brilliant judge of character. But her cloak bore no visible sigil, so he doubted she was a soldier or foreign guard. Not that it mattered to him.

As she strode forwards, Ondolemar followed her with his gaze. He crept forward, the armour of his guards clattering behind him, and he made sure to stand well in the shadows as he peered towards the throne, and the woman who now knelt before it. She rose quickly, and from behind Ondolemar noticed the quiver of arrows that was slung across her back. A warrior, then; an avid fighter, at least. But he could not be seen taking an interest in any citizen of the city, so he resumed his patrol along the foyer. He had simply been surprised by a new face, that was all. 

And yet, the nagging feeling in his chest told him otherwise.

~~~

“Erisia Valtieri.” 

Igmund peered over edge of his goblet. His eyes flickered over her form, before returning to her face. “Aye, I’ve heard of you. Balgruuf’s new Thane, aren’t you?” 

Erisia smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. 

“That is correct, my lord. Jarl Balgruuf anointed me several moons ago.” 

“And this is your first visit to Markarth?” Igmund questioned, eyes narrowed. Erisia nodded. “And what brings you to this corner of Skyrim, Miss Valtieri?” 

Erisia gracefully removed her pack from her shoulders, reaching in and retrieving a folded piece of parchment. She handed it to Igmund, and the Jarl ran his hand over the seal; the head of a horse.

“A letter from Jarl Balgruuf, regarding a proposal for new trade route.”

“A trade route?”

“Indeed, my lord.” Igmund looked up for the parchment, studying the woman before him. She continued, “Markarth has the largest mine out of all of the western cities in Skyrim; Jarl Balgruuf requires steel for his smiths in order to produce weapons for the war. In return, Whiterun would procure pelts and food for the Reach; we know that the mountains do not make for easy nor bountiful hunting grounds, like the plains of Whiterun do.” 

“We?” Igmund narrowed his eyes at Erisia. “Am I to understand that you’re counselling the Jarl, girl?”

“I assist the Jarl where necessary. I grew up in Cyrodiil, my lord; I spent most of my younger years learning the intricacies of politics; and whilst Jarl Balgruuf is a magnificent leader, there are the odd moments when I see fit to… intervene.” Erisia shifted, crossing her arms. “This trade route will strengthen the economy of both cities, and your people will benefit positively.” 

Igmund watched her silently for a few moments, before he lifted a hand to his face, scratching his chin. 

“You’re a smart girl. You’re father a politician?” 

“No, my lord. My father is a smith - the finest smith outside the Imperial City.” 

“And your mother?” 

“A seamstress and a merchant. She sells my father’s goods, and the clothes that she makes.” 

“So where’d you learn all these tactics of yours?” 

“My grandmother,” Erisia smiled, “She runs the local inn next to my mother and father’s shop. My grandfather always said she could talk circles around the Emperor.” 

Igmund chuckled. 

“She sounds like a marvellous woman,” He shifted in his throne, “I’d like to meet her.” 

“I’ll mention it in my next letter, my lord.” 

Igmund smiled, and nodded at his steward. The elderly man rose from his seat, and handed Erisia a decently-sized bag of gold.  
“A little thanks for delivering the letter.” 

Erisia pocketed the gold, and bowed her head. 

“Thank you, my lord.” 

“Will you be remaining in Markarth, or travelling straight back to Whiterun?” 

“I will be in Markarth for a few days. I have personal business here, regarding a friend.” 

“Well,” Igmund nodded, “I hope you enjoy your time in my city. If you have need of anything, please, do not hesitate to ask my steward, or my guards.”

“I appreciate your hospitality, my lord. Thank you.” 

With that, Erisia bowed, and turned to walked away. She did not make it more than ten paces away from the throne before she felt eyes upon her, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. She turned and looked to her left, and her silver eyes met a stare that was half emerald, half amber. Her eyes took in an angled face, and a strange feeling washed over her, as though something was tickling the back of her mind. She noticed the robes, and the stature, and returned her stare to the eyes that were still watching her intently. 

~~~

When he met her gaze, Ondolemar was overcome with a strange, and uneasy sense of familiarity. As though… Ondolemar blinked. When he regained his thoughts, he found that the woman was still watching – no, studying him. She had a strange look in her eye, a cautiousness, the reason for which he could not fathom. Though, he supposed a Thalmor Commander was not the most welcoming of sights. In that case, he realised that her cautiousness was probably well deserved.

But something about her eyes - crystal white - scratched at his mind. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. 

Then she turned, quickly and suddenly, and retreated down the steps of the Keep.

“Guards,” Ondolemar turned to face the two elven men behind him, “Who was that woman?”

He watched as they looked at each other quizzically, and then back at him. Ondolemar sighed. “The woman who was just speaking to the Jarl.”  
Both of them were silent for several beats. Then, the one on the left, Veron, if he remembered correctly, answered first.

“I do not know, Commander.”

Ondolemar turned to face the stairs, and caught a last glimpse of a tattered burlap cloak and a crown of raven hair. 

“…Find out.”


	2. Chapter 2 - Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I was always taught that introductions were polite."

Elenwen was growing impatient. 

 

There had been a distinct lack of leads (and subsequently, arrests) in regards to local Talos worship. Ondolemar was bearing the brunt of his superior’s frustrations, and it was beginning to show. He was stressed, and exhausted, and sick of being a lackey. Thus, he had gone to the Jarl, trying his best to hide his growing anxiousness and instead offering vague threats about ‘Thalmor influence’ and high-lighting the punishment that would be in store if any local citizen was found to be worshipping the ‘false god’. No matter how well they tried to hide, the Aldmeri Dominion would ‘weed them out’ and see fit that they were dealt with appropriately. Ondolemar demanded that more effort be put into discovering any heretics. 

 

In response to this rant, Igmund had glared at Ondolemar from beneath his brow, and there had been a sense of boredom about him. The Jarl had sighed, and waved him off dismissively. 

 

“If you want someone to be your lackey, Commander,’ Jarl igmund drawled, ‘try Valtieri. I’ve heard she’ll do most things for a spot of gold.” 

 

~~~

 

Valtieri, or Erisia, as she was more commonly known, had remained in the city of Markarth for three more days after her initial visit. 

 

Her business with Muiri had been quick; the contract easy enough, though Erisia couldn’t help but feel some pity for the Shatter-Shield clan; especially after the loss of their first daughter. Alain Dufont had gotten what he deserved, but Nilsene… Though, she supposed it didn’t matter. Business was business, and Erisia considered herself lucky that she had been trained by her mother and grandmother for this exact line of work. However, the Brotherhood was nothing like the tales she had grown up on; in fact, Erisia felt a personal vendetta towards Astrid, for abandoning the old ways and disrespecting the tenants. But, as things were, in her current situation Erisia had no power amongst the Brotherhood, and thus she deemed it unwise to speak out against their leader, however suspicious she may have been. 

 

But as she left Muiri’s shop for the second time, her coin purse significantly heavier, and the light of the autumn sun warm on her face, Erisia decided to banish those thoughts to the back of her mind; there was no use thinking about things that she - at the moment - had no power to change. Another letter to Jarl Igmund from Balgruuf sat folded inside of her satchel, and as her feet carried her towards the Keep, Erisia thought back to the Thalmor soldier that she had seen upon her first visit. 

 

Growing up in Skingrad, Erisia had met more than her fair share of Thalmor; most of them arrived in Anvil from the Isles, and subsequently travelled through Kvatch and Skingrad on their way to the Imperial City. Her grandmother’s inn had seen many a black-and-gold-robed patron, and though Erisia had been taught to fear no-one, she had been taught to respect everyone who held some form of power. Afterall, one never knew when one would need allies. So she had been kind towards the Thalmor, had sung songs in her grandmother’s inn whilst emerald and amber eyes watched on. She had met many men and women of every race in Tamriel, and Erisia never forgot a face. 

 

Which is why it unnerved her that she couldn’t seem to recall where she had seen his before. 

 

Ever since she had first laid eyes on him, something had been awoken, a subconscious memory - one that she couldn’t recall. Erisia didn’t even know his name, but something about him tickled the back of her mind. There was a sense of uncanniness, an unknown familiarity that she felt when she saw his face. It infuriated her. It distracted her. 

 

The best thing she could do would be to push any thoughts of him to the back of her mind - and keep them there. 

 

Even so, as she climbed the stairs to the Keep’s foyer, she kept her eyes peeled for those black robes and that jewelled stare. She was conflicted - part of her wanted to ignore him, prayed that they never crossed paths. The other part was begging for some kind of answer, a revelation. Erisia did not like not knowing things. Ignorance angered her, especially her own. 

 

She kept her head down, but her eyes still scanned the stone. And then she saw him, murmuring to his guards; his back was to her, but Erisia doubted there were any other Thalmor in the city. Her movements stopped as she found herself caught up in her thoughts, her eyes drifting over his back. He was tall, perhaps a foot taller than her, with a proud stature and a stiff spine. The Thalmor had never scared her - but that wasn’t to say she didn’t feel uneasy around them. She may not have fought in the Great War, but she knew of the consequences, and the repercussions; her own father was a veteran, and she had seen the shadows of the past cross his eyes more than once. 

 

Engrossed in her own thoughts as she was, Erisia had forgotten to avert her stare. Her staring must not have been as covert as she thought, as she suddenly met the gaze of one of the elven guards, who quickly shot her a narrow glare. Before she could react, the guard murmured something that she couldn’t quite hear, nodding towards Erisia with his head. That was when the Thalmor turned quickly, and Erisia found herself looking once more at the gaze that seemed at the same time so familiar yet so unknown. 

 

He was still as he looked at her, his eyes sharp. Both of them kept their gaze locked and the other, and for a brief moment, Erisia almost felt obliged to introduce herself. Almost. 

 

Instead, she continued towards the Jarl, turning her head away from the Thalmor and keeping her gaze ahead of her. 

 

~~~ 

 

Her talk with Igmund had been brief. 

 

The next job on her internal list was to meet with Calcelmo, and go over several notes about her latest expedition into another damned dwarven ruin. Erisia halted in her steps, and reached into her side satchel, quickly digging around for her notes. Upon finding them - hidden amid the mess of letters she had yet to deliver or take action upon - she had begun to quickly scan over their contents, refreshing her memory and organising her thoughts. 

 

So engrossed in her research was she, that Erisa had not heard the sound of approaching footsteps, nor had she sensed the looming presence off to her side. For once, her skills as a trained assassin had failed her, for she was caught quite off guard when a sharp cough came from her left. Her head swivelled, and she was met with the same pair of eyes that she had been trying so damned hard to avoid. 

 

He was glaring at her, and Erisia thought that perhaps he had expected her to cower in fear. When she didn’t react, his gaze hardened. Erisia raised a single brow

 

“Can I help you?” 

 

~~~

 

Ondolemar blinked. That had not been the response he had been expecting, nor less, the response that he wanted. Even though he had heard whispers from the Jarl’s advisors that the woman before him was a somewhat seasoned adventurer, he had still expected a flash of fear to cross her eyes in the presence of a Thalmor. Or hatred. Or disgust. But rather than any of these, the woman almost seemed… bothered. As though he had interrupted her day. 

 

Ondolemar swallowed down his biting reply, despite the amount of effort that it took. He had yet to find solid proof of Talos worship in the city, and Elenwen was getting impatient. More and more orders arrived every day, and despite his achievements within the Thalmor, he was still only one elf. He had no spies in this city, no way of listening through walls or peering through cracks. Honestly, his talents were wasted here, but Elenwen had denied him a transfer time and time again. Ondolemar had grown tired, and bored, and so, on the rare chance that this… Imperial… could help him achieve the results that his superiors so desired, Ondolemar had decided to swallow his pride. Anything to get Elenwen off of his back. 

 

He straightened his posture, making a point to look down his nose at the woman before him. But when he met her gaze - a gaze of silver, burning brightly - that same feeling from before began to creep into his bones. The hair on the back of his neck rose, and he narrowed his eyes, trying desperately to figure out why she made him feel this way. He did not remember her face, but something about her was - 

 

It did not matter. 

 

Ondolemar regained his composure, and addressed the woman with as much of a condescending tone as he could manage. 

 

“You are Miss Valtieri, I presume?” 

 

He watched as her gaze sharpened, and she clapped shut the book that she was holding. 

 

“I am.” 

 

Her answer was brief, and Ondolemar felt his lips twitch. 

 

“I have heard tales of your… talents, from the Jarl. You’re inquisitive, and from what I’ve heard, useful. - a rarity in this skeeverhole of a city.” His face curled as he reached the end of his sentence, as though even mentioning Markarth indirectly caused a foul taste to appear in his mouth. “I have a… little problem, and I have been led to believe that you could assist me in solving in.” 

 

The woman shifted in front of him, and Ondolemar waited. 

 

“It depends. What kind of a problem are we talking about?” 

 

Ondolemar smirked. 

 

“I assume you’ve heard of the false-god Talos…” 

 

~~~

 

Erisia hadn’t needed much convincing. Her hatred for the Nords was deeply rooted within her mind; when the Thalmor had offered her gold in return for bringing proof of Talos worship, she had been all too eager to accept. 

 

The amulet fit snugly in her pocket. It had been easy enough to steal it - Ogmund slept like the dead after a few drinks, and he hadn’t even stirred when she had entered his house and crept across the floor. Poor fool probably wouldn’t even realise it was gone. 

 

Of course, in order for him to fall asleep drunk, Erisia had needed to wait, which meant that she was now making her way back to Understone Keep under the cover of night. It was serene, the city after dark - the only real sounds were that of the waterfall, and the occasional clatter of a passing guard. It was peaceful. 

 

The Keep itself was the same - a few lone guards stood watch, and they nodded to her as she passed. The Jarl’s throne was empty, and as she expected, the Thalmor that had sent her on her little quest was nowhere to be seen. Though she could wait until morning to complete her favour, Erisia wanted to leave for Riften at dawn; the days were growing shorter as the seasons passed, and she wanted as much daylight to travel in as possible. The only problem was, she had no idea where his room could be. 

 

She asked one of the servants that was scattering around for directions, and they showed her to the eastern wing of the Keep. She expected his guards to be outside of his door, but there was no one. Just her, alone, and a large bronze door. Erisia thought about the best way to go about her next steps. Should she knock? Call out? Perhaps he was already asleep, or perhaps he would have her imprisoned for waking him. She knew that the Thalmor could have fickle temperaments - was approaching him at night something that was even acceptable? 

 

Erisia decided to follow her initial train of thought, and rapped her knuckles firmly on the metal. There was a beat of nothing, and then she heard footsteps, and moments later the door parted slightly to reveal the Thalmor. 

 

Up close, she could make out the finer details of his face; he had a firm brow, like most Altmer, but he also had a small scar that ran just below his chin. But again, Erisia found herself fixated on his eyes. Gods, but where had she seen them before?

 

“What do you want, Imperial?” He sneered. Erisia realised she had been staring for a moment too long. “If you are bringing me news of your failure, I suggest you make yourself scarce.” 

 

Erisia didn’t respond verbally, instead opting to fish the amulet out of her pocket, and dangle it in front of the Thalmor. The metal glinted in the candlelight. He raised his brow, and Erisia could have sworn that he looked shocked for a brief moment - a fact that she revelled in. He raised one hand through the opening of the door and took the necklace from her, inspecting it in his palm. When it appeared to be to his satisfaction, he fixed her with a sharp stare. 

 

“I expect you’ll be wanting your payment, then.” 

 

He opened the door further, gesturing inside. 

 

Erisia raised a brow, remaining still. Evidently, that was the wrong response, for the Thalmor’s jaw tightened. 

 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Come in.” 

 

Erisia tried her best to hide her surprise. 

 

After a few moments, she gathered herself, and walked cautiously into the Thalmor’s room. She could feel his eyes on her as she passed, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose. The door clicked shut behind her, and Erisia finally took note of the potential danger of the situation she was in. But something told her that this Thalmor would not harm her. Perhaps it was hopeful naivety, or ignorance. But Erisia knew that her intuition was never wrong. 

 

The Thalmor brushed past her, and she watched as he approached a simple chest of drawers, next to a simple bed. The sheets were silk, but that did little to hide the basic nature of the furniture. She could only assume that such a mer was not used to the more...well, cheaper things in life. 

 

Her eyes wandered whilst he went about his business, and that was when she caught sight of the bottle of Aldmeri wine on the table, accompanied by ‘Last King of the Ayleids’. Erisia smiled. 

 

“That’s a good read.” She said, eyes flickering over to the Thalmor. Upon hearing her voice, he stood straight, and turned to face her. 

 

“What?”

 

“‘Last King of the Ayleids’. It’s a good book - the amount of detail that Cinna put into his research is astounding.” 

 

The Thalmor quirked a brow. 

 

“You’ve read it?”

 

“Plenty of times - I always loved studying history.” 

 

Erisia watched as a somewhat baffled expression quickly flitted across the Thalmor’s face. “I know your kind think the rest of us beneath you, but we’re not all bumbling or illiterate idiots.” The mer fixed her with a pointed stare. 

 

“You sound well educated.” 

 

“I am. My father-” Erisia caught herself before she could say anymore. She turned to look at the book once more, shaking her head. “Ah, it doesn’t matter.” 

 

The Thalmor remained motionless for a few more seconds, still staring. 

 

Erisia still had her attention on the book, internally chastising herself for almost slipping up, and for this reason, she missed whatever the Thalmor had said to her, though she heard the melody of his voice in the back of her mind. 

 

“I’m sorry?” She asked, turning her attention back to him. 

 

“It’s nothing,” he spat back, and Erisia frowned. The mer suddenly stood up straight, having retrieved something from within the chest of drawers, and when he turned around to face her, Erisia could see that it was a rather hefty looking coin purse. He approached her with three long strides, and held the gold out to her. 

 

“Your payment - for your services.” 

 

Erisia reached up cautiously and plucked the coin purse from his hand, and for a moment her fingers brushed his. She tried to ignore the itching at the back of her mind that was getting almost unbearable. All she could do was murmur, 

 

“Thank you.” 

 

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, until Erisia shifted. “I’ll… well, I’ll see myself out.” 

 

The Thalmor nodded. 

 

“Very good.” 

 

Erisia turned and headed towards the door, opening it swiftly. Before she crossed over the threshold, something stopped her, and forced her to turn her eyes back to the mer, who was still watching her leave. 

 

“Erisia.” 

 

The Thalmor balked slightly. 

 

“What?” 

 

“My name. It’s Erisia. I just…” Her words died on her tongue. She shifted, trying to come up with something clever. “I was always taught that introductions were polite.” 

 

The Thalmor blinked, seemingly caught off guard. And Erisia swore by the gods that after a few moments, the barest hint of a smile formed on his lips. 

 

“Commander Ondolemar,” He stated, and Erisia nodded. Part of her was disappointed - she didn’t know what she was hoping for. She thought maybe if she’d learnt his name, that everything would click into place. That she would remember why she knew him. But she had never known an ‘Ondolemar’, and so the mystery continued. But, even so, Erisia tried to ignore the smile that wanted to crawl onto her face at learning his name in the first place. She figured that that was no small feat. 

 

“Right, well… goodnight Commander.” 

 

And with that, she turned and shut the door behind her. 

 

~~~

 

Ondolemar had begun to turn in for the night. The Imperial - Erisia, he reminded himself - had left quite a while ago, and yet thoughts of her still plagued his mind. He could not shake off the feeling that he knew her. It was driving him insane. Something about her was… maddeningly familiar. And her voice. He knew that he must’ve heard it before. But where? 

 

He realised that it did no good, worrying about it now. Ondolemar supposed that she would be gone by the time the sun rose - why else would she have returned to him at night? She would be off, doing whatever it was that she did, and he could remove all thoughts of her from his mind. The last thing that he needed was a distraction. 

 

But still, he wondered if she had felt it too. If she felt something about him, an itch in her memory, somewhere, at the back of her thoughts. 

 

No matter. He doubted she was of any real importance, if he could not remember her. 

 

And somewhere, the gods laughed at his foolishness.


End file.
